Stranded (6 page)

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking for his help, I walk right past him and grab the back of a kitchen chair, drag it across the tile, then set it in position. With one hand on the back of the chair, and the other on the counter, I stand there a moment, wondering how I'm going to do this. Even though my ankle feels better, I’m a little worried about re-injuring it, and if I put my bad foot on the chair, I’ll have to use that foot to hoist myself up. That has the potential to injure it again. But if I put my good foot on the chair, I’ll have to put all of my weight on my bad ankle. Not an ideal option either.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Drake watching me, and decide I'm going to make this work one way or the other, and decide option two is the best way to go. I lift my good foot to the chair, but feel a twinge in my injured ankle and quickly set my good foot back on the floor. Next, I lift my bad foot and place it on the chair instead, but as I'm about to hoist myself up, Drake storms over.

“Oh, for crap’s sake, woman. Why don’t you just ask me to get it down?” He reaches to the top shelf and easily lifts a can from the stack, setting it in front of me. “There.”

Still facing the chair, I turn my head and look at him—he’s standing only inches away—and glare. “Why’d you ask me to get it down in the first place when you knew I couldn’t reach it?”

A smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “I guess I didn’t take into account the fact that you’re the size of a hobbit.”

My eyebrows draw together. “I’m way taller than a hobbit. I’m five foot three.”

I can tell he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “Oh,” he says. “Well, then. Excuse me.”

Though I sort of want to laugh with him, I also feel irritated at the way he’s treating me. “Where’s your damn can opener?”

He reaches behind me and pulls open a drawer, lifts out a hand-crank can opener, then sets it next to the tuna. “There you go.”

I turn so my back is pressed against the counter. He stands only inches away, but I face him full-on. “You’re kind of an ass, you know that?”

He gazes down at me, my words evidently not making him feel bad at all. Then without any warning whatsoever, he puts his hands on both sides of my face, holding me in place, then leans towards me and kisses me.

Chapter Twelve

His lips are demanding, and his tongue probes my mouth, trying to force its way in. I'm taken completely by surprise, and as if by instinct, I punch him in the stomach, but it’s like hitting a concrete wall. Even so, it gets his attention, because he releases me and takes a step back.

With a look of contrition, he says, “I’m sorry, Ashley. I shouldn’t have done that.”

I stare at him, my body’s response completely betraying me. I'm supposed to be staying away from men, yet desire rips through me in waves. I never got around to putting my underwear back on, and now the crotch of my jeans is becoming damp with my need. But I can’t let him know that. I’ve decided that he’s not my type at all. Bossy and overpowering, very alpha. Sure, he’s sexy as hell, but I can’t see myself with a man who tells me what to do all the time. 

I'm an independent woman—at least I want to be one—so having a man who thinks he can order me around doesn’t fit in with my vision of myself. I have to put this man in his place, let him know that just because
he
thinks he’s all that, doesn’t mean he is. In truth, he is all that—and more. But I have to keep the upper hand in this . . . relationship . . . or whatever we have going. “No,” I finally say after I’ve gotten my body under control. “No, you shouldn’t have.” I pause, preparing to tell a fib. “I do have a boyfriend, remember.”
There. That should do it.
Although to be honest, I'm not sure I want to scare him off with my phantom boyfriend.

His eyes widen, like he’s forgotten about the boyfriend, and he backs up a few steps.

My eyes drift downward and I can’t miss the impressive erection that tents his sweats. A fresh wave of heat pulses through me as my eyes shoot to his face, but I can see in his eyes that he knows what I’ve seen. 

A lazy smile curves his mouth. “I’ll be in the living room. We can eat lunch in there.” Then, with a knowing smile, he turns and saunters away.

I watch his retreating back—his wide shoulders, narrow waist, and tight butt—and half-wish I hadn’t mentioned the phantom boyfriend, although I'm not sure how much of a deterrent it was anyway. Clearly, Colton Drake is attracted to me, but I have to be strong. I have to stick to my guns. No men. Not now. Not for a long while. They only bring me heartache, and I’m just not ready to let my heart get broken again.

Turning to the tuna fish and can opener on the counter, I focus on the task at hand. As much as it annoys me to be told what to do, I'm glad to have an excuse to not be in the same room as Colton Drake at that moment. I need some time to collect myself, to let myself cool down, before I face him again.

I make two sandwiches the way he asked, put them on plates, add some potato chips, then carry them into the living room. He is stretched out on the couch, his feet up on my stack of pillows. 

“Comfy?” I ask as I set a plate on his rock-hard abs, then sit on a recliner next to the couch and put up the foot rest.

He sits up in one fluid motion, lifting the plate from his stomach. “Yep. I might even take a nap.”

“I guess all that hard work this morning must have tuckered you right out.” Lifting the sandwich to my mouth, I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

He takes a large bite out of his sandwich, and after swallowing, looks at me. “You didn’t spit on this or anything, did you?”

I laugh, but don’t respond.

Lifting the top slice of bread, he examines the tomato and tuna, then puts it back together and takes another large bite.

Continuing to eat, I hold back a smile. After a few minutes, I look at him. “Do you think it’s too stormy to build a snowman?”

He’s holding a chip to his lips, but pauses, looking at me like I'm a lunatic. “Uh, yeah.”

I try to hide my disappointment. “Oh.”

He shakes his head. “Why do you want to build a snowman so bad?”

“I never have before.” My voice is soft as I speak.

“Wait, what?” He eats another chip as he watches me.

“I’m not from around here, for your information. In fact, I’ve never been in the snow before.”

“Where are you from?

“Las Vegas.”

“And you’ve never been to the snow?”

“Is that so unusual?”

He laughs. “No, I suppose not, but I’m just surprised.” His smile grows. “I guess we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

“So we can build a snowman?”

“Sure.”

I smile, happy to have some good news for a change.

“Just not right now.”

My face falls. “Oh.”

“When the storm’s done, and if you’re ankle’s better,
then
we can build a snowman.” He grins. “Maybe have a snowball fight while we’re at it.”

That sounds like fun. I relish the idea of throwing a few snowballs at him for making me fix him lunch when not only am I a guest, but my ankle still hurts. Which reminds me . . . “Did you mean that earlier? When you said I'm not a guest?”

His smile dims. “Sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re kind of a guest, since you don’t live here, but I need you to pull your weight too. You know, help out a little.”

His explanation makes me feel better. “Okay. That seems fair.”

Leaning back on the couch, he says, “Good. Now can you get us something to drink? I’d like milk.”

I set my plate on the floor, then turn to him with a smirk of my own. “Do you want that with chocolate?”

He smiles. “Yeah. That would be great.”

Knowing his gaze will be on my backside, I sashay away—at least as best I can while limping. Back in the kitchen, I fix two large glasses of chocolate milk, using the syrup I find in the fridge. As I put the syrup back on the shelf, something catches my eye and I take it out.

A moment later I carry the two glasses back into the living room and hand one to Drake, then sit in the recliner. Out of the corner of my eye I see him watching me. I try to hide a smile, but fail, then I turn and look at him.

His gaze goes from my face, to the whipped cream that adorns his chocolate milk, and back to my face.

“What?” I finally ask. “You said you like whipped cream.”

His voice deepens. “Yes. I do.”

I smile. “There you go.” Then I take a drink of my chocolate milk.

“Why don’t you have any?” he asks, then he takes a drink, which leaves a whipped cream mustache.

I laugh and point to his mouth. “Because I don’t want to look like that.”

Grinning, he wipes a finger across his mouth, then slowly licks it clean. “Mmm. That’s good.”

Heat surges between my legs, and I focus on eating my sandwich, suddenly regretting my little joke.

Chapter Thirteen

When we finish eating, Drake walks over to me, then stands in front of me with his hand out. “You made lunch, so I’ll clean up.”

This is unexpected. I hand him my plate and glass. “Thanks.”

He smiles, deepening his dimple. “Thanks for making lunch. It was good, and I like how you added the relish.”

His praise warms me and my irritation for his earlier bossiness fades. “It’s an old family recipe.”

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know tuna fish has been around that long.”

“Okay, it’s the way my mom taught me to do it.”

He nods, then carries our dishes into the kitchen. 

I hear the water running, then it stops, and a moment later he comes back into the living room. 

“You need to put your foot up,” he declares.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re done using the couch?”

“Yes.” He smiles. “Besides, I’m sure you want to get back to Frodo and his adventures.” His smile grows. “You know, since you’re so hobbit-like.”

With mock-outrage, I stand in front of him, standing as straight as I can, but the top of my head barely reaches his shoulder. “If I were a hobbit, I’d only come to about here.” I poke him in the abdomen as I speak, then look up at his face.

He gazes down at me, his face serious. His lips part, like he’s going to say something, then his lips compress and he takes a step back. “I’ll help you get the pillows under your foot.”

A feeling of disappointment spreads over me, but then I mentally scold myself. What did I expect him to do? I told him I have a boyfriend, making it perfectly clear that I'm unavailable, and anyway, that’s for the best. I’ll probably be gone sometime the next day and then I’ll never see Drake again. Why get all tangled up with him now? I’ve never been a one-night stand kind of girl. If I were to sleep with him, he’d need to mean something to me. And me to him.

But as my eyes drift to those broad shoulders and bulging biceps, then upwards to his face, I know he is already beginning to mean something to me. And I know if I let myself, I will fall for him. Hard.

After settling onto the couch, I pick up the book, but have trouble concentrating on the words. Drake is stoking the fire, his back to me, and my gaze keeps straying in his direction. Without consciously thinking about it, an image of him with his shirt off fills my mind. Desperate to think of other things, I blurt, “Do you have a girlfriend?” Then my eyes widen. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He turns and looks at me, his head cocked to one side. “Why?”

What am I supposed to say to that?
Because you’re the hottest man I’ve laid eyes on and I’m trying to decide if I want to throw myself at you.
“No reason.” I look back at my book, and with a tone of disinterest, I say, “Never mind.” Clearly, he doesn’t want to admit it, so I can only assume he does. I stare at the page, my mind wandering.

He is silent for several minutes. “I thought you said you were a fast reader.”

I look at him with a question on my face.

He gestures toward my book with his chin. “You’ve been on that same page for the last five minutes.”

For some reason his comment puts me on the defensive. “How do you know?”

A slow smile curves his mouth. “Usually when one reads, one turns the pages. You haven’t.”

“Maybe I’m savoring the way Tolkien writes.”

He laughs, then turns his back to me.

Just to prove him wrong, I noisily turn the page, but then turn back to the one I’ve been on, since I haven’t actually read it yet. As I lay there, the wetness in my jeans begins to feel uncomfortable, and I decide to put my panties on. Surely they’re dry by now.

I set my book on the floor, and get off the couch. 

Drake turns around. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I’ll be back in a minute.” I can feel his eyes on me as I ascend the stairs, and when I get to my room I shut the door behind me, then push the chair in front of it—no reason to give him the chance to sneak up on me when my pants are off.

After putting my undies on, then replacing my jeans, I turn my cell phone on, just to check to see if service has somehow been restored. It hasn’t. I look out the window at the swirling snow and wonder when this storm will finally stop, but when I think about what that means—me leaving—I decide I'm not in such a big hurry for the blizzard to end after all.

Back in the living room, I position myself on the couch, then look at Drake. “You said you don’t live here full-time. Where do you live the rest of the time?”

“I have a place outside of Reno.”

Reno? That’s where I'm headed.
“How often do you come to this place?” I open my arms to encompass the room.

“I try to come down a couple of times a month.” He frowns. “It’s nice to get away from the grind occasionally.”

“Have you lived in Reno your whole life?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You know, I don’t want to talk about me. Why don’t you tell me about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

I laugh. “Yeah, I have two older brothers.”

He nods, like a great mystery has been solved. “The youngest child, and the only girl. It’s all starting to make sense now.”

Knowing I should feel offended, I frown. “What makes sense?”